


adrift a dream

by searwrites (sears)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, surf!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 11:35:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1265008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sears/pseuds/searwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>surf!au drabble - originally posted <a href="http://searwrites.tumblr.com/post/77697474278/adrift-a-dream">here</a> </p>
<p>---------</p>
<p>This is the kind of day people write songs about, Jean figures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	adrift a dream

**Author's Note:**

> fics are always posted to tumblr about a week before i post them here - searwrites.tumblr.com

This is the kind of day people write songs about, Jean figures.

Perfect mid-seventies heat, balanced out by a steady offshore breeze. The resort Armin works at is close enough to the ocean that the wash of it creates a warm haze to the air, makes the windows of Jean’s beloved 89 Jetta get all fogged up. It makes looking at the beach feel like looking at an old photograph, faded and worn out around the edges.

He rolls up around the parking lot, turns the music down to save face with all the old ladies who come here for their late afternoon tanning sessions. Jean even winks at one as he drives by, elbow resting out the side of his window, glasses tipped low down the bridge of his nose.

Jean almost turns to park, but then sees Armin standing out by the side entrance, looking all sorts of prim and proper in his uniform as he talks to one of his equally dressed down coworkers. A sky blue polo with the hotel’s logo on the front, a pair of khaki baggies and flips to tie it all together. He even has his hair pulled back- what a dork.

When he told Jean he got a job teaching surf basics at a hotel, he thought it was gonna be in a pair of Speedos, all bent over and on display for the old cougars- something to keep their mouths dry, keep them ordering their mimosas, or whatever. Instead he spends most of his day dressed like a busboy and teaching spoiled little kids how not to drown.

“Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to put that ass away, we don’t need any additional traffic congestion on this already busy part of the beach - understand?” Jean parrots in his best authoritative tone.

Armin’s coworker looks at him like he’s insane. Armin, on the other hand, immediately turns and grins, knew from the second the first word left his mouth who it was.

“Gotta run, Hitch, I’ll catch you later!” he yelps, running and sliding that dangerous ass over the hood of Jean’s car, practically bouncing in the passenger seat once he’s there.

Jean leans a little further out the window of his car, pushes down on the neon blue arm of his sunnies, makes it so he can look this Hitch chick in the eye while she continues to stare at him like he’s from another planet.

“Don’t worry, Ma’am, I’ll bring him back in one piece.”

And with an accompanying smack to his bicep from Armin, and a grinning wink at the girl, Jean zooms off.

-

It isn’t quite warm enough to justify riding out in just baggies, but it’s not as cold as it was two weeks ago. With the trunk popped on his car, he tosses Armin his Xcel springsuit, while he opts for the thin wetsuit top that’s too big for either of them. Armin is always colder than Jean, it’s in his blood.

Jean pulls both boards off the racks on top of his car, hands the shorter one to Armin, and sits down on the inner lip of his trunk as he pulls off his shoes, whacks them against the bumper of his car to dust the sand off of them. Jean’s only been glassing boards down south for a couple months, but he still complains about having to wear shoes while he does it. Working with fibreglass kinda makes it a necessity, though.

“What are we playin’ for?” Armin asks, grunting as he pulls the zip up the remaining length of his spine.

He stands and looks out at the waves, and Jean always loses track of where his eyes are supposed to be when they’re like this. This part of the beach is always quiet off-season, the inlet farther down is the more tourist-y spot, nearer Armin’s resort. The waves aren’t even great, which is the excuse Jean gives himself for staring at Armin for so long.

The thing about Armin is he will always prefer the ocean to someone else, he will always know exactly where to look. It’s barely into summer, which means the sun is already starting to dip low in the sky, and the warm haze of the horizon meeting the edge of it casts a dust of orange glow across Armin’s cheeks.

Jean never thought he’d understand the term ‘so in love, it hurts’ - he always just assumed it was Ymir’s way of bullshitting straight into Krista’s bikini - but he thinks he’s starting to get it now.

“Well?” Armin prods, turning to face him, catching Jean in the act of staring like a lovesick puppy, “Cash, grub, or an all expenses paid trip to my room? Your pick.”

Jean grins, jumps up from his car and grabs for Armin. Armin is too quick though, sprinting down the boardwalk in his bare feet, laughing like a maniac. Jean only has time to snatch his own board before chasing after him and yelling, “How about all three?”

—

By the time they actually make it to Armin’s room, it’s completely dark outside, only the smallest traces of the leftover sun painting the sky almost red around the edges. ‘Armin’s Room’ is actually a room in the hotel now, one that comes as a part of his salary. He basically gets paid to live on a tacky resort now, which Jean is only slightly jealous of.

Maybe jealous isn’t the word.

All he knows is it still feels a little strange to have to drive so far to see him, to have Armin be outside of arm’s reach. Everyone’s moved onto bigger and better things by now, though. Jean should probably count himself lucky that Armin only moved as far as he did. Jean even had the opportunity to move out to one of the islands, shape boards for the locals, but he turned it down. Creature of habit, he supposes.

“If you had to eat only one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?” Armin asks, laid out on his back on the bed, the windows all opened up, illuminating the room in moonlight. Armin is so damn pale, it almost makes it seem like he’s glowing.

Jean decides to be cute, rolls over onto his side to bite Armin delicately on his shoulder.

“You,” he says.

Armin laughs and shoves weakly at Jean, his voice all high and childlike when he does. His shoulder is warm, so Jean rests his cheek against it. He’s probably sunburnt again, the little shit never reapplies his sunscreen like he should.

“I think I’d say pizza. Or maybe Gringo’s Tacos- shit, I can’t choose,” Armin laments, slapping a dramatically despaired hand over his eyes.

Jean chuckles, presses his mouth into Armin’s skin, only because he’s warm, and he’s here. “That’s why we’re civilized human beings. We have options, we’re never stuck with just one thing forever.”

Armin stops laughing then, tilts his head to the side and down a little, looks at Jean.

It’s a little too poignant, and Jean knows he’s dug his own grave with this one.

“You’re right,” Armin says, but he doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t remind Jean how he’s not a kid anymore, how this pipe dream of surfing for a living isn’t something that’s within his grasp- maybe it never was.

Jean moves so he’s looking up at Armin, touches the boy’s cheeks and ‘tsk’s at him when he feels how hot they are. Yep, definitely burned.

“When will you learn?” Jean chides gently, swiping the pad of his thumb over the blushing heat beneath Armin’s eyes.

Armin shrugs innocently, looks so intently at Jean that Jean thinks he can see his eyes sparkle a little.

“It’s what happens when you stick with the things you love,” he says quietly, and Jean’s throat feels a little tight.

He scoots up, tilts his head and kisses the warm swell of Armin’s lower lip in lieu of a response, settles back down against his bare shoulder as the moon starts to drift over top of them, heading west.

“I think I’d go with Gringo’s too,” Jean says suddenly, disturbing the calm silence of the room, “I’d go in halvsies with you on that.”

Armin smiles. Jean only knows this because he can hear it.

“You’ve got a deal.”


End file.
